


We Bleed The Same

by ninwrites



Series: Shadowhunters Coda Scenes [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: ALSO VERY GOOD, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Coda, Communication, Downworlder Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e18 Awake Arise Or Be Forever Fallen, Feels, Filler scenes, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, brotp: gay sigh returns, gay solidarity for the win, im sorry, it's dark, just not -- between alec and magnus, so there's that, until 2x19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 05:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11685345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninwrites/pseuds/ninwrites
Summary: "We always seem to find our way back to each other."A fix-it for 2x18 because I'm heartbroken.





	We Bleed The Same

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'Where's My Love' by Syml (aka the song playing in the morning scene when domestic!malec are in bed together)
> 
> this isn't a happy story. this is angst and heartache BUT as there must be, there is hope. I highly recommend listening to this handy little [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/malteser-24/playlist/4T4Fxlk995G7SE3KJ9UZO9) I made while you read because it is terribly cathartic.
> 
> FEAT. Aline because brotp: gay sigh + gay solidarity is something we all need & Raphael because I've missed his shady presence + his friendship with Magnus genuinely gives me life.
> 
> leads off slightly from my Aline&Alec fic [Cynics With A Smile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sh_missingscenes/works/11490879) but you don't have to read that for this to make sense, it just provides a little background. :)

 

Everything is cold.

It's all Magnus can focus on. The cool air whipping around him, the chill at the tips of his fingers, his frostbite heart; a sharp contrast to the burning behind his eyes. The pads of his fingers are rough when he presses them to his cheeks, silver tear-tracks trailing fire down his icy skin, endless and unstoppable.

 _It's for the good of my people._  He thinks, his hand clenching, digging into his cheek.  _I need to put them first._

A quiet voice, warm and achingly familiar, disagrees:  _When will you put yourself first, my dear friend? It is okay to be selfish, when it comes to love._

Not when it comes to war. In war, self-preservation takes precedence over all else - comraderie and intricate, unspoken bonds that have lasted for centuries. The Downworlders need to put themselves first if they want to survive.

Or they won't.

It's ironic that Ragnor's voice is in his mind, when he's no longer alive because of Shadowhunters, because of  _Valentine._ It has gotten to the point where the only way to survive, while Valentine is around, is to put himself and his people first, before all else. He needs to make sure that his fellow warlocks, his friends, are safe.

Catarina.  _Madzie_.

Malcolm Fade, in Los Angeles, in case Valentine makes his way there. Tessa, in the Spiral Labyrinth ryinth - if Valentine truly wants to go after Downworlders, wants them exterminated, he'd try and go there. True, it's location isn't known to any Nephilim, and even Magnus needs the co-ordinates sent before he portals over, but Valentine is moronic and obtuse when it comes to his dedication, and Magnus isn't naive enough to believe Valentine wouldn't go so far as to ruthlessly slaughter any warlock he can find in a vain attempt for information.

He needs to put his people first. Even if it's at the cost of his own heart.

 

* * *

 

One of the cruelest sensations to experience is the sharp retraction of relief - the taste bitter and acetic.

The flood of sweet, incomprehensible solace at Max's open, fluttering eyes, at the fact that he's okay and alive and despite the odds had made it through - all of that had shattered, swept beneath crawling, desperate misery, as soon as the elevator doors shut.

It's been a long time, since Alec and Magnus were on opposite sides. Separated by something deeper than mere space.

Alec spends a good few minutes just standing there, heart throbbing a staccato beat behind his bruised ribcage, sorrow and disbelief weighing his shoulders until he hunched forward, head hanging to hide the tears that keep threatening to spill.

Magnus' words echo around him, achingly poignant.  _"You once asked me what I was afraid of? This."_

It still remains unclear, what exactly  _this_  is. Is Magnus afraid of being on the other side of an impossible war, is he afraid of having to make such a difficult decision, or is it love? Is love, is loving Alec, loving a Shadowhunter, what he's scared of?

And if so, if that is truly what he's so frightened over, then why start something in the first place? Alec's struggled to come to terms with the truth of Magnus, his immortality, the fact that there will come a day where Alec will leave him, hurt and broken, off to somewhere Magnus can't follow.

Alec had always been afraid of being the cause of such pain, because he couldn't comprehend how any of it could be worth it.

 _"The world could end tomorrow,"_  He recalls Magnus saying, once. Curled up beneath golden sheets, soft and sated, pliantly spilling thoughts like scattered marbles on a tiled floor.  _"And my biggest regret, would not be falling for someone without eternity, but rather, not giving myself a chance with them. With you."_

Is this it? Has their chance passed? Alec feels like he's grappling at sand, time slipping like grains in an hourglass away from him. All he had with Magnus, now a photo album of cripplingly sweet memories.

Alec had vowed, as a man who was proud and comfortable with himself, that he'd never put Magnus in the same pain as he had before, when he'd pushed him away, pretending he could lead the life of another.

And yet, he's managed to do it anyway.

 

* * *

 

Just because he's hurting, doesn't mean his job ends. It's not easy, leaving Max, leaving his parents, and he has to fight to ignore the tears that prick when Isabelle touches his arm and asks if he's okay, but Alec manages to make it back to his office before his composure breaks.

The tears fall without his permission, but he's not strong enough to stop them. He slumps against the door to his office, hands on his knees, chest heaving empty breaths, and he sobs. Hard and painful, until his breath starts to hitch and hiccup, and his throat burns with the scratch.

The sharp trill of his phone chisels into his attention, a quick and splitting reminder that he has things to do, people depending on him. Although not always, Alec still believes that there are times when emotions truly are a weakness.

Now, especially, the adage drives him.

He barely looks at the name, one thumb swiping to answer the call while the other scrubs furiously at his wet cheeks.

"Hello," He croaks out, voice thick. "Alec Lightwood speaking."

"Alec?" A distinctly familiar voice pipes through the line. "Oh, thank the angel, you're okay."

It's only been a week, or so, since he last heard Aline's voice, but still, the sound of it causes something to settle inside of him. It does nothing to calm the raging storm, but then again, little, he imagines, will.

"Aline," An exhale inflates inside his chest. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay."

Okay is a relative term. He feels like he's been stabbed with a seraph blade, twisted at the right angle to bring the worst pain, but that's not what Aline is talking about.

"I heard there was an attack at the New York Institute," Aline explains, words tripping over themselves in a haste to get out. "Mom probably wasn't supposed to tell me, but I heard her mention something in passing about an attack at an Institute, and it didn't take a genius to put it together. She didn't deny it when I asked her point-blank, which is as good as a confirmation."

A new ache settles behind the fresh one. Alec misses Aline. Seeing her, even for just a day, had been a stark reminder of the good times they used to have, of how well their friendship works, because they're so alike.

A stark thought hits him. Aline doesn't know. She thinks that Sebastian - Jonathan - is still her cousin - and while they haven't found the real man, it's unlikely that he's alive.

"Aline," He keeps his voice low. "I think you'd best sit down."

Alec can practically see Aline bristle. "Sit down?" Her voice is shaky. "Why? What happened? Is it Izzy, or Max? Jace?"

"They're alright," Alec digs his nails into his jean-clad knee. "Max was attacked, but Brother Enoch was able to save him. Everyone is okay."

Relatively.

"Then what's the problem?" Aline asks, wary, and with good reason. "Was it Valentine?"

Alec shakes his head, for more than just the question. His world has been tipping on its axis, slowly, slowly,  _slowly_ \- and now he's crashed. "It's Sebastian. Or, well. Jonathan. Valentine's first-born son."

Aline's confusion is palpable. Alec can sympathise entirely. It's only been an hour, or so, since he was in the same room hearing the very same thing. He waits, for her to respond, to deny or it or question or just something, because after hearing such a revelation, time to process is the first thing needed; answers, a quick second.

"What are you talking about?" Aline's voice is cold as steel. She knows. She's just having trouble admitting it.

"Jonathan Morgenstern didn't die. We're not quite sure what happened, other than that until he was ten, until Jace came to us, he was raised in secret. He made his way here under the pretense of being your cousin, Sebastian Verlac-" Alec rubs the back of his neck nervously. "I'm really sorry, Aline, but I don't think the real Sebastian is alive."

Jonathan was willing to kill Max to keep his identity secret. A child. Alec doesn't want to imagine what he would do to a Shadowhunter to take  _their_  identity.

Alec isn't sure what he's expecting. But a deep, guttural shout certainly isn't it.

"That  _son of a bitch_ ," Aline snaps, her heavy breathing coming through the line like an echo. "I thought something was off - but he knew things, things that only Sebastian would have known ... I'm going to  _kill_  him."

Alec appreciates the sentiment, he does, he wants Jonathan dead, too, but: "How are you going to make it here? Your mother won't let you leave Idris. Certainly not now."

"I don't know," Aline sighs, haggardly. "I don't know."

There's a few moments of tense silence. Alec pushes himself off the wall, making it as far as the couch before he collapses. He's so tired. Bone-deep exhausted.

Not that he'll sleep tonight.

"Is there anything I can do?" Aline asks, stern despite the underlaying desperation. "Spearhead things on this end, perhaps?"

Alec doubts that Aline knows about the Soul Sword. But then, that isn't their only problem.

"I know it's not an easy feat-" He's been trying to do this for weeks. "But do you think you could talk to your mom, about the threat that Valentine poses? The Downworld is in disarray, and if the Clave don't act, we're going to be stranded, left to fight alone. Without an equal alliance, we have no hope of winning."

"Sure," Aline pauses, considering, then adds: "I don't know how much push I'll have, but I can definitely mention it to my parents. Can't you handle the Downworld part on your end, though? You are dating Magnus Bane, after all."

Aline laughs, lightly, but Alec barely hears it. He feels like he's suddenly been submerged under water, held down forcefully until bubbles rise furiously around him and his lungs burn with the lack of oxygen.

"Alec?" Aline shouts, dripping concern. The idea of hurting another person he cares for pulls Alec back, though his head is as heavy and aching as his heart.

"Sorry," Alec shakes his head, a mournful sigh escaping his parted mouth. He slides a hand into his hair, tugging slightly, to bring himself back to reality. "I um, I'm not ... well, actually - I don't know what I am to Magnus anymore."

"Did something happen?" She asks, before scoffing. "Sorry, stupid question. Do you want to tell me what happened?" She settles on, finding it more suitable.

Alec hasn't told anyone. He's kept a brave face, locked his feelings away where the pain can't reach him - but it has, and he's overcome with the swelling, urgent need to spill. The wall he'd forced up is crumbling, splintering, and there's nothing keeping it from breaking, anymore. He doesn't have the energy to keep it in.

"He needs to put his people first," Alec presses his lips together, forcing the sobs back. Tears he's spilled enough of. "Hard decisions to make. And he can't do that, if I'm ... I don't know, if I'm around, if we're together..."

"Did you break up?" Aline asks quietly. "Or just, take a break?"

Alec laughs, but none of it is happy. It's sharp and weak and broken. "I don't know. I don't want to be, I want to be together, of course I do, I - I  _love him_  Aline."

Alec scrubs angrily at his face. Stupid tears. Stupid feelings. When did he ever think that opening up his heart would ever work out well for him?

"The worst part, is that I know he loves me back. He told me, raw and honestly, but more than that - this sounds really stupid, but, I could  _feel_  it, I can - he loves so freely and deeply, it's palpable. But none of that matters. I don't know if, I'm just not good enough, or if he's scared of what being with me will mean for his chance of survival-"

 _"Alec,"_  Aline hisses sharply, but Alec doesn't register it.

"I don't want him to die because of me," Alec whispers, pain carrying his words like wings. "I don't know, if that's the issue, or if he's just scared of having to choose between me and his people - not that I ever could, expect him to choose. That's horrible, of course he should choose his people, I'm-"

"Alexander. Gideon. Lightwood." This time, Aline's words come through, deliberate and piercing. "Shut the fuck up."

He does.

"I know you." Aline presses. "I know what you're like, I know what you're thinking. That you're nothing special. That Magnus deserves to find someone who won't put him in danger."

He hadn't, actively been thinking exactly that, but he also doesn't disagree.

"That's bullshit, Alec." Aline takes a moment, breathing in deeply. Alec leans back, lungs deflating. "You are one of the best people I know. Period. Clearly, Magnus is aware of that - he's not blind. I have heard, that he's quite a wise man, although frankly that is now up for debate."

"Aline," Alec protests, weakly. "Don't."

"No," Aline replies steadfastly. Alec can practically see her rolling her eyes. "I'm going to. We're in the middle of a war, Alec. Valentine doesn't care about Downworlders, I'll admit that. His existence is despicable and a waste of good air. But he doesn't care about Shadowhunters, either. He wants to create his own, new race of half-angel beings. He's not going to spare the likes of us anymore than he will the Downworlders."

"It's not their fight," Alec refutes. "He's one of us."

"Because there has never been bad Downworlders?" Aline scoffs. "Alexei De Quincey, a vampire who condoned killing innocent mundanes to degrade the Accords, was defeated with the help of Shadowhunters from the London Institute. Iris Rouse, that warlock who practices necromancy, not a very good person from what I've heard. Not to mention the Unseelie King, who is notoriously cruel."

Aline drops off, then adds, low and almost as an afterthought: "Not that the Seelie Queen is all that reputable, either."

"If there is a bad seed in the Shadowhunter community," Alec recounts words he's heard before, though he can't remember from where. "Then it is our duty to deal with it. No one else's. The Downworlders have every right to put their lives first."

Aline makes a pointed noise in disbelief. "If there was a rogue warlock, causing trouble and threatening the lives of the New York Institute, would you run away to protect yourself?"

"No," Alec shakes his head vehemently. "I'd stay, and fight."

"And if that same warlock threatened Magnus?"

Her words have the same impact as a closed fist to his solar plexus. The breath expels from his lungs, hard and direct like the arrows he shoots. "I'd-" Alec swallows, thickly. "I'd stand and fight with him."

Aline sighs. It feels pitying. Alec probably deserves it.

"I'm not saying he's made the wrong decision, or that he doesn't love you." Aline hurries to reassure him, not that it does much to help the hurt unfurling out from the center of Alec's chest. "He's been around longer than us, and has likely seen worse before. I just think that he has other options. He doesn't have to abandon you to save his people."

"Just because I'd foolishly rush to protect the people I care about, doesn't mean that it's the smartest decision." Alec points out. His family the people he loves, are his weakness. He knows that.

And he, apparently, is Magnus'.

_"The key to having no fear, is having nothing to lose."_

Magnus can't be fearless, and have Alec at the same time. His people need him to be a fearless, strong leader - and so do Alec's. The Shadowhunters under his care, need him to be ready and prepared for anything.

Just because the decision hurts, doesn't mean it's the wrong one.

"I wish things were different," Alec admits, something heavy sinking in his stomach. It feels a lot like reluctant acceptance. "Of course. But there are priorities, for us both. Maybe, maybe after Valentine, and Jonathan are dead, maybe then we can pick back up where we left off."

"Alec, you can't just give up love, not when you've worked so hard-"

"I'm not." Alec promises, though he isn't feeling as sure as he'd like Aline to believe. "I'm just, putting it on hold. I still love Magnus. I always will. His death-" A sob chokes Alec, and he swallows it down. "If anything happened to him, it would  _ruin_  me. I'd much rather know he's alive, then put him in danger because I don't want to leave his side."

For a moment, all that can be heard is the roaring pulse of blood in Alec's ears. He can feel a headache blooming, stress, fatigue and heartache warping together in a physical manifestation.

"Ultimately, it's your decision." Aline states. "And I'll support you, however I can. Even if I don't agree, and think you're a bloody fool."

A splintered laugh shoots from Alec's tongue. "If I want a future with him, Aline, there needs to be a future in sight. If Valentine wins, there's no hope for any of us for any kind of future."

"I hate it when you're right." Aline grumbles. "It's infuriating."

"This time," Alec clenches his hand tightly over his chest. "I don't like it either."

 

* * *

 

At some point in his walk - a decision Magnus had made with the idea of letting the cool air clear his mind, something he now recognises as foolish and vain - he'd snuck his hands into his pockets, for his hands are where his magic comes out and he'd be truly lost without them.

Once he gets closer to his apartment, he buries them deeper, chasing warmth to fight of the chill - his left hand brushes something soft and stitched ... the  _omamori_  charm. He'd slipped it in his pocket when Alec had arrived at his door.

He still thrills, despite himself, at the reminder of the gift, the meaning, the stealth he'd enlisted so Magnus wouldn't find out. The pure, altruistic meaning behind it: luck, and protection.

Something Magnus had come to associate with Alec.

"It's the right thing." He repeats to himself, weak to his own ears.

He could, he admits, have been clearer to Alec, but he knew that if he stayed for much longer he wouldn't have been able to turn away. It's important, for both of them, that they put space between them.

Love blurs the line between good and bad ideas. The wrong decision could end in disaster, for all of them - Magnus isn't walking away from Alec because it's easier, or because he doesn't love him.

Magnus  _has_  to walk away from Alec to keep him safe.

He leaves the  _omamori_  where it is, secure in his pocket. He doesn't want to lose it. He doesn't want to lose Alec, either, but there's a possibility that, after this is all done, he will have done just that.

Magnus strikes his hand to the side, blue sparks, tinted red, flash as the door swings open. There are some days where he laments ever accepting the position of High Warlock.

It had been an exciting idea, at first. A position, a title that held incomparable power and provided experience he'd never get with any other role. Magnus had done a lot, he'd traveled and seen the world time and time over, experienced all there was - change was the only thing keeping him from hardening.

It's the best thing he's ever done. Being High Warlock gives him a purpose he'd never had before, and he loves it, he does. But if he wasn't, he could just leave, hide out somewhere Valentine can't find him.

Magnus laughs, self-deprecatingly. "I can't believe the irony of this," He mutters to empty air. "If I hadn't been High Warlock, I'd never have met Alexander. If I wasn't High Warlock now, I wouldn't be tasked with such a decision."

Magnus toes his shoes off at the door, uncaring of how they fall. He doesn't care about much, at the moment. Not this moment, anyway. He wants to down a sleeping potion and pass out for the indeterminable future until everything is okay and nothing hurts.

He can't. He knows he can't. But for a selfish, minute he wants to.

"My God, you're a mess." A deep voice echoes from his loungeroom. Rich and a little sarcastic.

"I don't have time for this, Raphael." Magnus pinches the bridge of his nose until his nails leave indentations. "If you need something, come back tomorrow. If it's drastic, and immediately important, give me five - no, ten - minutes for a shower. And don't pester me, I am  _not_  in the mood."

Raphael is perched in the high-backed armchair closest to the balcony, and coincidentally the drinks cart beneath which holds a crystal decanter of blood. Because Raphael has known him for far too long and is a sneaky bastard with no sense of boundaries whatsoever.

"I heard you're planning to side with the Seelie Queen." Raphael's eyes dance in the low light, but his mouth is twisted into a dispassionately thin line. "I only have one question, Bane. What have you digested recently?"

Magnus keeps his gaze on Raphael's, though it's hard. "Why?"

Raphael shrugs a lone shoulder. "Well, because contrary to what I am sure is a quite popularly held belief, you are not an idiot. And yet, you are acting as an idiot would."

"I thought I told you not to pester me," Magnus mutters, heading straight towards his drinks cart. "Why do you never listen to me? What are you even doing here?"

Raphael watches him pass with a narrow gaze. "Luke called me. I'm not going to ask how he got my number, I know it was either you or Alec, that's not the point - and told me you were planning on joining the Seelie Queen. Clearly, something is wrong, so here I am. Because we're, friends, or whatever."

A stray spark flies off and hits the nearest lamp. Magnus hardens, but doesn't flinch. He picks up the biggest whiskey decanter he has, and pours enough into a glass to help him swallow past the lump in his throat. "I have not, technically, made any decision yet."

He downs another glass, to be certain. Raphael is watching him with a scrutinising and dark gaze, fingers tapping erratically on his glass. His lips are pink, but not stained, so his interest doesn't lie purely in draining Magnus' blood supply. Which means he is here because he cares for Magnus and not for ulterior motives, which will make it harder for Magnus to kick him out.

Immortals have an endless concept of time to waste, and Raphael has patience down to an art form.

"I will personally lock you in your own ridiculously large closet if it means you don't side with the Seelie Queen." Raphael snipes, in a low tone. "Surely your few hundred years in the Downworld has taught you some things, such as to  _never_  trust the Fey with a decision that will last longer than your inevitable hangover?"

"You know that they're never on the losing side." Magnus points out, diplomatically, carrying the decanter and a glass to the other armchair. He's nowhere near intoxicated enough to sit on the couch, again.

"That," Raphael sneers in distaste. "Is because they consistently change what side they  _are_  on. They're terribly inconsistent with their support, and you can never be sure that they won't double-cross you."

"Valentine wants all Downworlders  _dead_ ," Magnus snaps, defeatedly. The whiskey burns amber in his crystal glass. "Last I checked, that included faeries."

Raphael rests his ankle on his knee, and sighs. "If the Seelie Queen will not side with the Shadowhunters, then who is left?"

Magnus frowns, swirling his drink around. He can see his reflection, his dropped glamour. It doesn't feel special. It feels weak. "The warlocks, the werewolves, and hopefully, the vampires."

Raphael wipes his thumb over his bottom lip. He's pouting, like a child. Magnus empties his glass and tries to convince himself the movement isn't in any way a sulk.

"Luke isn't a fan of the Queen." Raphael points out. "Neither am I, for that matter, but my decision rests on the collective opinion of my clan, and that is yet to be determined. Even if you have both the New York vampire clan, and the werewolf pack, amicably agreeing to work together - a difficult enough task on its own - you then have to round up all the warlocks you can find."

"I have contacts," Magnus pours another glass. "And influence."

Raphael stares, unimpressed. "Were you not the one who told me that warlocks are solitary people, who don't tend to group the way other Downworlder factions do? How are you planning on convincing them that your decision is what is best for them? Such a decision would require them to stay, and I don't see many of the outlier warlocks committing to such."

Raphael shrugs. "If know that if I could slip in a portal and escape imminent danger, I would."

Magnus thinks of the  _omamori_  charm in his pocket. Protection. He's supposed to be providing that for his people, but Raphael is right: most of them will depart at the first chance they get, and convincing others to work for a cause greater than themselves when death is at play, will not be an easy, nor a quick task.

Even if he cashes in every favour he's owed, it won't be enough.

"We cannot win a three-sided war, Magnus." Raphael leans forward, dropping his glass to the table. He's not had a sip since Magnus walked in the door. Magnus, on the other hand, has lost count of the whiskey that's passed his lips. He's buzzing around the edges, but that could be from any number of things.

"We don't even know what side the Queen will take." Raphael stresses. "You can't make a decision with half the facts."

Whiskey, Magnus now recalls, can make him quite bitter.

"Do you know what is a fact, Raphael?" He hisses. "The Clave are not doing anything, nor  _will_ they do anything. If it does not involve saving their noble asses, they won't get involved. It will be us against Valentine, we'll do all the dirty work and then they'll sweep in and take credit, and once again my name, all of our names, will be struck from the record because we matter as much to them as we do to Valentine."

"Magnus-"

"They take," Magnus is seething, words scathing, burning hot from the inside out. "And take, and use and abuse, until there is nothing left but skin and bone." His hand is shaking. Or, perhaps, all of him is. "The only difference is that Valentine is, at the very least, upfront about his intentions to have us all wiped from the planet."

Raphael is silent, pensive. Magnus drops his glass, glass shattering along with what's left of his mangled heart, and just stares. The tears are back. It's so rare for him to cry, like this. Foolish though it is, he has a habit of pushing his negative feelings down and replacing them with happier ones, though not all of them authentic.

Crying makes him feel pathetic and feeble. His magic haywire. His emotions uncontrollable. It's horrible and he can't seem to make it stop.

"I don't have any other choice," He mutters, speaking of more than just the deal. "Difficult choices must be made to protect the Downworld. War is never easy. But some things are essential."

"And your happiness?" Raphael glances up slowly, his gaze far too clear and critical.

Something thin pierces Magnus' chest. He's lived through pain before, he's lived through worst, he's lost those he's loved before - he's doing this for the good of his people, and for the good of Alec, so that there is something there between them to return to once this disastrous mess is over.

Magnus knows he's lived through pain far worse than this. He just can't remember it.

"Happiness is not a priority," Magnus sweeps his hand, clearing up the broken pieces of glass. There'd been something quite commiserating about the mess. "I have my-"

He can't finish the sentence. The word hangs heavy in the air, waiting, but he can't force it past his throat. The tears return, slow and dripping like blood from a shallow wound.

"You are a fool." Raphael states, both as a condemnation and a revelation. He stands up, and swiftly plucks the whiskey before Magnus can reach for it, before he can decide that a glass really isn't necessary.

Magnus doesn't care that he's pouting, or sulking. He broke his own heart tonight. He has every right to his own emotion-driven actions, in the safety of his home where they won't affect anyone else.

Any decisions he makes after tonight, all the decisions he's made before tonight ... emotions can't bleed into his perception. So, he's wasting them all away now, when it's real and raw and fresh and he can't breathe for the pressure on his lungs.

"You pushed him away, didn't you?" Raphael shakes his head, already deciding the answer before Magnus can respond. "I had hoped that this time would be different, but you're characteristically predictable."

Anger simmers inside Magnus. His hands spark red flames, but Raphael barely flinches.

"I know it was you," Raphael states, lower this time. A little more considerate. Something plaintive flashes in his eyes, but it's gone soon after. "You always do this. You think that you can save yourself the heartbreak if you make the first move, but it never works. Now you've hurt both yourself, and him, and I cannot see what purpose you find in any of it."

"The Downworld-"

"The Downworld are not your sole responsibility!" Raphael snaps. It is the most fury Magnus has seen exude from him in decades. "Do you think any of the other Downworlders out there, the obvious few excluded, give a single damn about you Magnus?"

Raphael steps closer, a thunderstorm held within his gaze. "Valentine could stab you through  _tomorrow_  - do you think the warlocks would stay to fight him in your name? Do you think the Seelie Queen would mourn? No." Raphael sneers, teeth poking into his bottom lip. "The warlocks would flee, cowards as they are, and the Seelie Queen would turn her withering charms to the next ally capable of ensuring that flower crown remains on her head."

Raphael inhales deeply. His voice, when he speaks next, is cold and hard as steel. "Your true allies are the people you should be protecting. Catarina, Luke, myself." He leans in, until Magnus' head is swimming with the proximity. "And  _Alec._ "

A low, pained noise sticks in Magnus' throat. He shakes his head, fitfully, anguish clawing at his ribcage. "I can't-" He mutters, a broken record, scratched beyond comprehension. "I can't, I can't..."

"I know that Alec and I have had our,  _issues_ in the past." Raphael exhales through his nose. He's remarkably calm, though his words are laced with toxic fury. "But I'm not blind. I can see how better you've been since you met him. You're happy. In a way I don't think I've ever seen before. You opened your heart to him, and to your surprise, I'm sure, he  _didn't_  break it."

Magnus despises Raphael for knowing him so well. The anger has turned to frustration, bubbling heatedly beneath the surface.

"Personally, I think he's too good for you." Raphael frowns, the barest hints of concern etched in lines like scripture on his forehead. "But you deserve someone who is too good for you. Don't break his heart just to protect your own."

"You think I am protecting my heart?" Magnus hisses, dark and low, claws scratching at his throat. He laughs, but it doesn't sound right. Sharp and shattered. "You think I am doing any of this for  _me_?"

He wrings his hands together in front of him, flashes of paler hands flitting beneath them in imagined perception. "If I had my way, Raphael, I wouldn't be here. Neither would he. We'd be off, in France or Portugal or somewhere Valentine can't reach us. But that is not an option, and neither are we."

"You're making a mistake." Raphael states, sinking to rest on the haunches of his calves. "But I can see that I won't change your mind. I'll stand by your side, because you're my friend, and because I trust you."

Trust. Such a fragile, delicate concept. So very easily broken, so quickly taken and twisted. Magnus isn't sure whether he wants to laugh, or cry - a hitched, choked off sob echoes in his throat. He thinks that summarises things quite well.

"I'm staying here tonight." Raphael declares. Magnus jerks his head up, gaze met with an impenetrable wall of defiance. "I trust you, Magnus, as a leader. Not as a broken man. Catarina is far too busy to be called in on such short notice, so instead you're stuck with me. I can't trust that you won't hurt yourself, or do something you'll regret."

Magnus scoffs weakly. "One could argue I already have."

Raphael stands up, squeezing Magnus' shoulder tightly. Such a sign of comfort is not common, a true testament to the disaster Magnus has wrapped himself in.

 _I have to do this._  He thinks.

It's pathetic, really, that he doesn't even believe himself anymore.

"I am going to put some tea on." Raphael curves his hand against Magnus' cheek, wiping a stray tear. "And then you're going to sleep, or at least attempt it. I'm here if you need anything else."

"Thank you," Magnus croaks.

Raphael smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "It's what friends are for, Magnus. You fall, and I'm there to catch you, dust you off, and set you right." He turns around, and then a dark slip of laughter escapes and he glances back. "It's Catarina's job to smack you around. I'll save that for her."

Magnus shakes his head, fingers pressed into his eyes, because if he doesn't stop the tears now he never will. Maybe he is making a mistake. Maybe it won't work out. But he doesn't have many other alternatives, and this is looking like the best one.

If he's wrong, and the world does crash and burn, at least he'll go with it.

 

* * *

 

"Alec,"

Isabelle's voice echoes down the hallway. Alec sighs, pressing his hand, and then his head, to his door. He can't catch a break.

Isabelle's hand is gentle when it presses to his back, familiar and comforting. But he can't deal with her concern, or the pity in her eyes. Not today. Not now.

"Iz," Alec exhales, eyes fluttering closed. "Is it important?"

"It is to me." Isabelle declares, firm despite the obvious care in her tone. "Something is bothering you, Alec - don't think I haven't noticed. Did you have another fight with Magnus?"

Alec has already spilled to Aline, he's too tired, mentally, physically and emotionally to do it again. He needs sleep and his own company.

"I'm fine, Iz, I promise." Alec hates lying to his sister, but there are more important things to be worrying about than his hurt feelings. "I'm just exhausted, okay, it's been a long day. I just need some rest." He lifts his head, glancing at her over his outstretched arm. "And so do you."

Isabelle wraps her arms around her torso. There are shadows cast in planes across her cheeks, her hair tousled and tangled. "I don't know if I can." She admits. "With Jonathan, out there on the loose, causing unimaginabledestruction ... I know that Max is okay, now, but I can't get the image out of my mind, of him just sprawled across my carpet-"

Isabelle lifts a hand, covering her mouth before any noise can escape. Something ugly twists inside Alec. He's being selfish, thinking of himself, and not his family.

"Do you want to sleep in here, tonight?" He suggests, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Isabelle's ear. "Like when we were kids."

Isabelle sniffs, a smile threatening to break through. "A sleepover with my big brother?" A dim light dances in her eyes, twinkling stars breaking through midnight fog. "I'd really like that. Should we invite Jace, too?"

As if on cue, a flash of blonde darts past the edge of the corridor, a glimpse of red following quickly behind. Something melancholy curves Alec's mouth. "No, I think he's okay."

Isabelle slips her hand into his, squeezing gently. "Just us, then."

"Yeah," Alec lets the bittersweet smile grow. "Just us."

It's been a while, since it was just the two of them. Isabelle doesn't mention it, and neither does he, but something comfortable settles between them as they prepare. Alec showers first, as Isabelle retrieves clothes from her room, and when she's occupying the bathroom, he's settled against the headboard of his bed.

It doesn't really feel like his bed anymore. The mattress is rather firm, the pillows flat and standard-issue. Alec shifts, attempting to settle in a place that doesn't feel like home, desperate for a reprieve he doubts will come.

At least he's not alone. He thought he needed his own company, just his thoughts to entertain him, but his thoughts are dark and desolate, and despite the fact he knows Isabelle is only a door away, he can feel the walls threatening to press in and crush him, loneliness sinking beneath the ever-present ache.

His phone buzzes, a resounding vibration on the bedside table. He glances over, not really thinking, and finds his breath trapped in his lungs.

 

 **Mags** **:** I am sorry, Alexander. I do love you. Too much. But I must do this. I have to do this.

Sweet dreams. x

 

Alec doesn't notice the wetness to his cheeks, just the blurring words, printed against the back of his eyelids when he shuts them. He doesn't notice Isabelle either, until her hands are cupping his cheeks and her thumbs are wiping away the sadness painting his skin.

"Alec," She whispers. "Alec,  _Alec_  - look at me."

He forces them open, pained at the concern and secondhand despair reflected in his sister's eyes. She doesn't ask him what's wrong, thankfully. Just pulls him forward, until his head is resting on her shoulder, one hand tangled in his hair, the other rubbing his arm soothingly.

"Let it out, Alec." She presses a kiss to his temple. "Just let it out."

He does. Burning tears and broken sobs and twisted, desperate noises that speak to the unfairness of the horrible, cruel world they live in. He remembers Isabelle telling him once, that if he keeps all these tumultuous feelings bottled in, then one day they  _will_  explode out of him.

The cork has popped.

**Author's Note:**

> if this didn't hurt you enough I highly suggest checking out [this art](https://twitter.com/panda_138/status/892507332684500994) because it will definitely drive the point home, and was a key point of reference for me in keeping tone.
> 
> (I realise it's slightly canon-divergent - just, for the purpose of this fic pretend that Magnus has until the next morning to give the Queen an answer, because emotions are the focus of this, not seelie politics)
> 
> i am sorry for any angst-related feels: I had a lot of thoughts, and I needed to blurt them out somehow. i hope you enjoyed it. thank you for reading. 
> 
> check my [my tumblr](http://killjoyrow.tumblr.com) or my [fandom side-blog](http://drugs-and-candy.tumblr.com) to talk to me, about shadowhunters or malec or anything else that takes your fancy! 
> 
> (if anyone is interested in live-tweeting feel free to use the tag #malteser24 {original I know} ❤️ I'll be sure to check them out)


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